46
poems.
Calls it proud man in prayer to kneel?
Is it devotion's sacred hour?
Is it devotion's sacred hour?
No, not to prayer. The bugle's note,
The trumpet's thrilling tones are here,
And softer sounds of music float
In gentle murmurs to the ear.
And look, the idle and the gay,
And beauty's form pass lightly by;
It is their monarch's bridal day;
Should not the heart with joy beat high?
The trumpet's thrilling tones are here,
And softer sounds of music float
In gentle murmurs to the ear.
And look, the idle and the gay,
And beauty's form pass lightly by;
It is their monarch's bridal day;
Should not the heart with joy beat high?
O! many a heart beats gaily here,
Within this favored, sunny clime;
Nor deems a darker day is near
Proud Venice, in this glorious time.
Noon,—and the sun's meridian rays
Still beam on lofty tower and dome:
Mid gorgeous pomp and jewel's blaze,
The idle throng still gaily roam.
Within this favored, sunny clime;
Nor deems a darker day is near
Proud Venice, in this glorious time.
Noon,—and the sun's meridian rays
Still beam on lofty tower and dome:
Mid gorgeous pomp and jewel's blaze,
The idle throng still gaily roam.
Gaze further. On the glittering stream,
What glorious object meets the view?
Is it the pageant of a dream,
Illumed by Fancy's magic hue?
It comes. That train moves slowly on,
Beneath the heaven's refulgent light;
Never the sun, in splendor shone
Upon a scene more proudly bright.
What glorious object meets the view?
Is it the pageant of a dream,
Illumed by Fancy's magic hue?
It comes. That train moves slowly on,
Beneath the heaven's refulgent light;
Never the sun, in splendor shone
Upon a scene more proudly bright.
All silent is the gentle lay;
The warlike strain is heard no more:
The warlike strain is heard no more:
